Page 9 of Professional Liar
“Kat?”
“Mmmm…” she said, throwing her hand over to pull me into her. I curled up behind her body, molding ours together.
The sweat, come, tears, none of it mattered as I shifted her close to me. Our pulses beat together fiercely, and I decided I’d try the honesty thing one more time.
“Kat, are you listening?”
She gave me another sleepy noise of assent. I wiggled a ring off my little finger and then curled my hand up her waist to trap her left palm between my fingers. Then I slid my mother’s Claddagh onto her left ring finger.
She jolted against me and then held her hand up into the light of the window. “You can’t give me your mother’s ring.”
“If you are going to be my wife, then you’re going to wear my family’s ring.”
She rolled over to face me, her brow damp with sweat. A crease started between her eyebrows as she stared into my eyes. We said nothing, and nothing needed to be said.
This Irish Mob Prince was about to marry himself a spoiled, rich, pain in the ass, mafia princess.
And heaven help us both.
